Speedo
by Lothlorienx
Summary: Tim Drake in a speedo. Because reasons (it's for exercising and Diana may have had something to do with it).


Tim ran a hand through his damp hair, then wiped his sweaty palm on the edge of his speedo. It was barely enough fabric to clean his palm, but he didn't really care. He had a sink, if he needed to. But he didn't bother with it. He was focused on his workout right now; that and only that.

He'd been training with Diana for weeks, learning all of her combat moves and all of her defensive moves. And then there was exercising just for the act of exercising. Old Greek moves and tactics that she used in her day to day life. Tim had been so eager to learn those moves, except for the one catch of it being historically accurate Greek exercise.

Meaning that he had to exercise naked.

The first time he tried he felt so ridiculous and exposed that he just couldn't go through with it, so he had to put a pair of pants on before he could even consider doing anything. Then the next time, the same thing happened. Only he lasted a little bit longer. He was able to do his stretches and lunges all the same, but by the time twenty minutes had passed, he was reaching for his pants again.

Now, he was dressed in nothing more than a speedo, trying to get as close to naked as he could. So far it was going good. Forty minutes had passed and he hadn't reached for his pants yet. He was getting better, and soon he hoped to be able to do it "historically accurately."

He lunged, stretching the muscles in his legs out just the way Diana had taught him. His legs burned and he fought back a smile; the sweet pain was warming him up, making his heart pound and his back sweat. He brushed a lock of black hair back out of his eyes and lunged again, going deeper this time. His muscles burned again, and this time he didn't try to hide the smile.

When he was finished with his lunges, he began the disc lifting. The discs were made of pure stone, flat and circular, and heavy in his hands. They weighed no more than ten pounds each, but Tim knew that by the time he was done, his arms would be burning and aching and begging him for a rest.

He picked up the disc and began lifting them. He spun around, keeping his feet in check as he did, and lifted it up, spinning it around his body like he was about to throw it. He didn't though, but continued to handle the disc in his fist. As the minutes ticked by, the discs in both of his hands were starting to make the muscles in his arms burn. He didn't stop, didn't put them down. This is what he had been waiting for.

He started spinning faster, his feet sometimes leaving the ground as he jump-spun. With a forceful kick up off the ground, he threw the stone discs with all his might, watching as they soared through the air before falling to the ground, many yards away from where he stood.

"That's gotta be like…fifty yards…" Tim muttered to himself. He placed his hands on his hips, suddenly aware yet again of just how exposed he was. He looked back over to his pants, folded up neatly and waiting for him to put them on. His fingers twitched as he felt the edge of the speedo, debating with himself as to whether or not he should cover up.

He didn't.

He snapped his head back and started over for the discs. He counted his steps as he did so. Forty-tree yards, he concluded. "Damn it," he muttered to himself. Diana could throw fifty pound discs over two hundred yards. But then again, he knew not to compare himself to Diana. She was a super-powered goddess that was equaled only by Superman. There was no way he could get on her level.

He picked up both of the discs, lifting them up in his arms. His forearms ached as he did so, but he didn't care. That was a good sign. He knew that they would grow stronger that way. Tim took a deep breath and began practicing with the discs again. Despite how light they were, the repeated flexes and rotations he had to do was wearing him down.

"Here we go…" Tim grunted and threw the discs as hard as he could. He knew, before they even touched the ground, that they would be less than forty yards away.

Thirty-six yards, he counted as he made his way over to them.

Tim rolled his neck and his arms, trying to loosen up his shoulders. He was starting to lack, his fatigue making him lag in his exercise. He snapped the edge of the speedo against his skin repeatedly, trying to make him snap into focus. When that didn't work, he took both sides of the speedo in his fingers, pulling them far away from his skin and letting them snap hard against his hips.

That seemed to do the trick.

Tim didn't pick up the discs again, but did more stretches and sprints.

He knew there was more to Diana's Greek workout. There would be acrobatics, horse-back riding, archery, sword-fighting, and all sorts of other stuff. But he was alone right now, and he was way too tired to try to contort his body. Diana could form a bridge perfectly, could stand on her hands without using her powers of flight, and could balance perfectly on one foot with the other foot clasped in her hand high above her head.

There was no way he was going to attempt that yet.

And somehow Diana managed to do that all while naked, never feeling exposed or weird or judged. Tim envied her. How did she do it?

He looked down at his speedo again, wondering if he would ever have the nerve to work out naked. The Greeks used to do it, he told himself. Why not me?

Briefly, his eyes flicked back over to his pants, but he had no desire to pull them back on. He was finally starting to get comfortable with the speedo, no matter how…open…it made him feel. Maybe it would get to the point where he didn't need to bring pants with him every time he attempted a Greek workout. Maybe, just maybe, he finally would be able to do his exercise naked like the ancient Greeks.

Maybe, but not yet.

Tim took his eyes off of his speedo and went back to sprinting. One hundred yards was what Diana had advised him to do. Once to the end point, and then back to the starting point. Two hundred yards in all. Tim didn't time himself, because he didn't need to. He counted in his head, despite the fact that he didn't mean to.

He didn't make good time. He was weary and his legs were starting to wobble on him. As he sprinted back, he almost fell over as his foot sunk into a depression in the ground. He regained his balance before he could fall, though, but he didn't quite seem to get back up to his former speed.

When he reached his starting point, he knelt over, hands on his knees and head bent down. He was panting, and his dark hair was soaking with sweat that was dripping down on his feet. A full minute passed before he caught his breath. As he stood up, he felt a jabbing pain in between his ribs. He ignored it; he'd had worse. Cramps in his sides were nothing new.

"Maybe…one more time…" he wondered to himself. He looked into the distance again, visualizing where the hundred yard marker was. It was a long ways to him now that he was exhausted. In the end, he decided against that sprint.

More lunges. More stretches.

His legs started to shake as he bent over to touch his toes. He fought against it as best as he could, but in the end he broke posture and ended falling back on his butt. He grunted when he fell against the ground. He rubbed his sore legs, flexing his legs to work out the ache in his knees.

"I think I'm done for today," he mumbled to himself.

He stood up to go to the showers. He stepped underneath the warm soothing water, all his aches and pains melting away. He stripped the speedo off of himself, noting with a bit of humor that this was the only time today he didn't feel weird being naked.


End file.
